


Lighting Candles

by Grundy



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:55:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28057239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/pseuds/Grundy
Summary: Moments of joy shine all the brighter against the darkness for Carnistir and Haleth.
Relationships: Caranthir | Morifinwë/Haleth of the Haladin
Comments: 13
Kudos: 59
Collections: Festival of Lights Fest





	Lighting Candles

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Festival of Lights 2020.

“Pre’y!”

“Yes, Miryo, the candles are very pretty. But not for touching.”

His son sulked as if this was entirely Carnistir’s fault.

Haleth laughed at the sight, but gave her husband a mild glare as she intercepted Mirifinwë’s hand, still outstretched in an effort to reach the flame that had caught his attention.

“Your father is silly, my darling. What he means is we don’t touch candles because it would hurt.”

Carnistir gave his beloved an exasperated look in return. He wouldn’t have let the boy actually touch it. He had been around children before. And this one was _his_!

“You are the one who insisted on so many candles,” he couldn’t help pointing out.

They were all over her small house – at least, the part of it that was private. The front room, where she might be called on by her people day or night, was dark save for only a candle in the two windows on either side of the door. But with winter arrived in earnest and snow several feet deep blanketing the area, they should be able to hope for several uninterrupted nights, perhaps even a full week unless something was badly wrong.

Here, in the space that was theirs, with the shutters drawn to keep out any prying eyes, there were candles by every window, above the fireplace, and on the table. The room glowed.

“Carnistir, it’s tradition. It’s the darkest part of the year,” she sighed. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard the saying ‘tis better to light a candle than curse the darkness’?”

After a moment of bemusement, Carnistir shook his head.

He could have told her that candles had been unnecessary in Tirion, where they had only ever known Treelight. In Formenos, which had been beyond the reach of Treelight much of the time, they’d had lamps.

“I can’t say that I have. But judging by the number you’ve lit, I think you’ve chastened the darkness sufficiently for both of us.”

“I should have thought your people would have a similar saying,” Haleth said, picking their son up to dance around with him before he could try to reach for any more pretty but dangerous things. “You’re of a considerably more practical bent then many people realize.”

Carnistir supposed that was true – though he suspected most Noldor would deplore the risk of fire that came with lighting a dwelling with candles. Or at least put some sort of shield around them, for safety of both little fingers and nearby objects, rather than just the naked flame…

But yes, otherwise he imagined the Noldor would applaud the sentiment. His father would have – at least, the father of his youth would have. He was less certain what his father would have done in his last years, when he had been consumed by silmarils, thoughts of light, and inexplicable fear that the things he valued most would be taken from him.

Carnistir still didn’t understand his father’s behavior. Which was not to say he didn’t know fear himself.

The past year had been the most amazing of his life. He saw wonder in Mirifinwë’s eyes as each day brought fresh marvels for one so new to the world. Grass, birds, clouds, stars… it didn’t take much to enrapture the boy.

Much as he tried to ignore it, there was no hiding from the hard knowledge that all too soon such days would be over.

It was not just that Carnistir could only justify his absence from Thargelion for so long. Every day with his wife and son was one day closer to the day others would inevitably discover the child, one day closer to the day the boy would be too old not to know his proper name and his parents’ names. The day his son would no longer be safe.

_On the House of Fëanor the wrath of the Valar lieth from the West unto the uttermost East…_

The best way he had been able to find to keep his son safe involved Mirifinwë _not_ being a member of the House of Fëanor. His bright, brilliant little jewel would have to be hidden with a name no one would connect to his family. It was the boy’s only chance at a life of his own, not dictated by his grandfather’s Oath or the Doom that hung over his father and uncles.

He wondered if that was why Haleth had lit so many candles this year – a warm and loving light their son might remember, for Mirifinwë was unlikely to see another winter with her. It was a miracle they had been able to keep him concealed thus far – nearly an entire year, a feat possible only with the connivance of Haleth’s law-sister and nephew.

Carnistir has not told any of them where or how he intended to hide the boy. Nor had Haleth asked, though she surely realized the moment of parting would come all too soon. Perhaps it was easier for her not to know, to focus on every moment they had together instead of all those they would not.

To light candles rather than curse the darkness.


End file.
